


In Lines of Fire

by autumnstwilight (sewohayami)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Prophecy (Final Fantasy XV), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, FFXV Rare Pair Big Bang, OC child in epilogue, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewohayami/pseuds/autumnstwilight
Summary: Marked by the Infernian with the name of his soulmate, Ignis grows up bearing a burning secret.
Relationships: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret/Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

It was a bright and early morning the first day he met the prince, the shimmer of the Wall making the sky beyond almost impossibly blue. The clothes laid out the night before were stark monochrome in the sunlight. He was able to put them on without any help this time, and so he bounced on his heels at the plate glass window, looking out over the city as his father showered and shaved. He could see the Citadel from their apartment, and the pillar of light that rose into the sky and held up the great dome above.

The light came from the Crystal, and the Crystal belonged to the King. The King had a son named Noctis, and one day Noctis would be King himself. Ignis held these things in his mind, the facts and the connections between them, feeling a secret thrill at each one. A King needed an advisor to tell them important things, to remain at his side always, and Ignis would be that person for Noctis. It was all very important, and thus exciting.

The city was so vast, and yet the Wall above kept it contained, like a living snowglobe. And beyond the Wall, the sky was an even bigger sphere. Bigger than he could see, bigger than he could count, perhaps even bigger than the grown-ups could count. The future seemed much the same.

Before they left, his father took him aside, and knelt before him in the narrow hallway, from where the view of the sky was obscured. He asked Ignis if he remembered what he had been taught about the history of their family, their duties to king, country and gods, and their secrets. Ignis nodded.

“Has your mark changed?”

He lifted his shirt to show the letters on his side, reaching up over his lower ribs. At first glance they appeared to be written in black ink, but a closer inspection of the fine lines revealed a burning interior, glowing charcoal and ash, as though he were peering through a narrow crevasse at a fire inside his body. And yet, in any other way it behaved as though painted on his skin, deforming when he pinched and rolled it between his fingers.

The lines appeared to be written in ballpoint pen in a rather childish hand, a cautious but shaky rendering of the name “Luna”.

“I think it’s clearer?” he offered. He’d seen photos from his infancy, when there was little more than a loopy black scribble on his side. Little by little, it had shifted into a scrawled “L”, then the other letters had appeared. The “a” had been backward for the first week before correcting itself.

“Hm, perhaps,” his father said. “But it’s still not the full name.”

Ignis bit his lip, feeling like he’d failed somehow. He knew his family wanted to know his soulmate as soon as possible. If they didn’t know, they couldn’t plan. Not knowing was dangerous. Planning ahead made things safe. Once they knew the girl, they could make the necessary arrangements, get to know her family, and begin the process of bringing her into their line.

“Tuck your shirt in,” his father said, and Ignis obeyed hastily. His father reached out to straighten his tie, then took his hand as they walked to the elevator.

* * *

He soon forgot he even had a soulmate. His days were spent on private tutoring in the mornings, followed by afternoons with the prince. Under the watchful eyes of the caretakers, they couldn’t go far, but the halls and gardens provided sufficient amusement for the two boys on most days. In the spring, Noctis picked flowers, while Ignis threaded them into chains and wreaths. After the summer rains, they spent an afternoon filling a box with snails, and Noctis had cried and stomped his feet when the maids insisted he empty them out before coming inside. They chased a ball across the lawn to their own rules, which were no rules at all, except the ones that Noctis made up when he fell too far behind. In the autumn, they were allowed to venture further out, where the blackberries grew, and stained their fingers and lips purple-red. When the weather grew chill, they stayed indoors and drew with wax crayons on a roll of butcher’s paper, creating a mural of scribbles that grew longer by the day.

After he returned home in the evenings, he would sit at the table, take out his books, and try to remember what his tutors had taught him that morning. It wasn’t that the work was particularly difficult, or even boring— he enjoyed the puzzle solving. The worksheet before him featured a few dozen arithmetic problems with a new twist, the answers were given and an element of the question was obscured. Flipping the numbers around in his mind and reversing the operation was easy enough, but as the long shadows faltered in the twilight, his eyelids grew heavy. There was never quite enough time to rest.

Nights passed as if he had merely blinked before being roused for another day. He gazed at the fogged mirror blearily after his morning shower, and realized that his mark had shifted overnight. Curiously, he dragged a hand across the mirror, clearing a patch and puzzling out the backward letters.

_ Lunafreya. _

The handwriting had matured over the last few years, from a child’s scrawl to a neater, girlish hand. The letters were neatly curved and cautiously joined, a loop at the top of the f, a curl at the bottom of the y. Well-educated and careful, not careless like Noct’s or hurried like Ignis’s own.

There was another cause for curiosity. “Luna” might well have been an Insomnian name, but “Lunafreya” was rather more exotic to his tongue. Not Altissian, but from the other continent.

_ That means she’s either from Tenebrae or… _ He let his hand slide down the mirror. He couldn’t marry someone from Niflheim. It would never be allowed. No one in Noct’s inner circle could have such close connections with the citizens of an enemy state. He wouldn’t even be able to bring her into Insomnia. He’d lose everything.

Soulmate or not, he couldn’t imagine anyone that would be worth all that. If the Infernian had any sense at all, she must be from Tenebrae. Which was only slightly better, given its status as Niflheim territory, but at least it wasn’t impossible for Tenebraen citizens to receive travel permits. Merely difficult.

He’d thought that he would be glad to notify his father of any change, but somehow he couldn’t stomach it. He dressed himself and went to meet his tutor.

* * *

But when he arrived, the Citadel was in an uproar. He was ushered into a study, and no one stopped by, and no one explained. He soon abandoned the worksheets left for him to creep back into the hall, watching and listening. There was no sign of Noct.

“—one of the Empire’s—”

“—got there just in time, he barely survived—” 

“—leaving for Tenebrae—“

“—if they’ll even let him see the Oracle—”

Every snatch of conversation, every whisper and knowing look gave another twist to the knot forming in his stomach. The air itself was pulled taut, the familiar rooms stretched away like a house of mirrors. Something had visited in the night and changed his home around, put everything slightly off-center. And try as he might, he could not catch hold of the answer.

A hand clapped upon his shoulder, and he whipped around to see. It was one of the Council, a gentleman with a stern expression.

“Master Ignis, is this where you are meant to be?”

He wasn’t disallowed in the corridors, not exactly, but the man’s tone made him shrink as though he’d been caught with one hand in the royal cookie jar.

“I was— going to the infirmary,” he lied, bowing and taking his leave before he could be questioned further. When he reached the corner, he had no choice but to turn in the direction that he had claimed he was heading, and upon turning it, he could hear the sounds of activity further down. He drew closer, and as he did, a group of adults emerged from the medical wing and dispersed, stone-faced and with hurried footsteps. A tall man barrelled in his direction, not so much as glancing down, and Ignis sidestepped to avoid being knocked over. 

He crept further down the now-empty corridor, the abrupt silence raising the hairs on the back of his neck. The walls were stark white, the air smelled of bleach and hummed faintly with machinery. The faint sound of breathing could have been a person, but seemed as though it came from the building itself. Through the door left ajar, he could see that the nearest bed was occupied, sheets propped up by a figure too small for them, black hair splayed across the pillow.

Ignis was by the bedside then, permission to enter be damned. Noct wasn’t awake, he was pale, not moving— was he even breathing? The sheets were clean but the room smelled of blood, a copper note lingering under sour antiseptics. There were tubes, one up his nose, another feeding into his elbow.

He felt he had stumbled into the center of the wrongness that had gripped the Citadel since the morning. Noct was his  _ best friend, _ they saw each other  _ every day. _ Hospital rooms were for other people, people who got sick, people who were really hurt, people who might  _ die. _ There was no way that Noct should be here, pale and sickly and still. It didn’t make sense at all.

He might have been crying. There were trails of moisture down his cheeks, drops of warm liquid soaking into his button-down collar. Irrelevant. He had to— make sense of this. Figure out why Noct was here instead of running through the sunlit gardens, or waiting in the playroom for Ignis. He had to work out how to make it better.

There was a man sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed. Ignis started when he noticed, but the man was slouched in on himself, dozing. Greying hair, dark clothing, and a face lined with worry and ashen with sorrow. Perhaps sensing Ignis’s movement, he stirred, and his pale eyes slowly opened.

“Y-Your Majesty.” Ignis swooped into a hurried bow.

There was a pause before the king responded.

“Ah, Master Ignis. Perhaps I should have expected you.” The hint of a smile was fleeting, and his expression once again turned grim.

“Is he… alright?” Ignis asked, knowing he was not owed an explanation, but unable to restrain himself. Noct’s hand rested on the stiff sheets, a plastic band loose around his wrist. Ignis wanted to reach out and take it, but hesitated. Noct seemed like something placed on a shelf out of his reach, too breakable to be touched.

“He’s been hurt,” the king sighed, “Badly. But he will live. The gods owe me that much.”

“Oh,” said Ignis, not knowing quite how to respond.

“We will depart for Tenebrae shortly. He requires the Oracle’s aid… Depending on whether she is at the manor, when she can attend to him, the tractability of the wound— ” He glanced out the window at the daylit sky “— it may be some time before we return.”

Ignis did take Noct’s hand then, covering it with both of his own. Noct was still sleeping quietly, with only the slight rise and fall of his chest as movement. It was good, he tried to persuade himself. Noct would be in the hands of the Oracle, who possessed healing magic greater than anyone in Lucis. He’d be okay then. And he’d come back, so Ignis could see him. Eventually.

_ — but it might be a long time. _

He raised an arm to his face to wipe away his tears, and offered a silent prayer. To the Infernian, to the Draconian, to anyone who was listening. There were footsteps and voices, once again stone-faced adults entered the room, and he was jostled aside, Noct hidden behind a curtain of suit-jackets and robes. The king began speaking over his head. He wasn’t meant to be here, and so he bowed quietly and left the room, before he could be given the stinging command to leave.

* * *

The days were quiet.

He sat by a window in the apartment, rereading a book. His schoolwork was all done for once, several days in advance, and he flipped over another dog-eared page. He’d read this story before, a children’s fantasy that his mother had read a chapter of every night before bed, and that he’d become so engrossed in he’d pilfered the book and devoured the rest in one afternoon.

He might have reconsidered, had he known she’d stop. But even after he’d apologized, his parents had insisted if he was able to read for himself, he hardly needed to be read to, and could move on to more challenging things. Like the tomes of family history and knowledge.

He had one of those sitting next to him now, a volume detailing rites to the Infernian, ready to snatch up if his father walked in. Not that he’d be punished, but he knew well by now what sparked pride in his father’s eyes, and what disappointment.

Determined to finish the tale before he could be interrupted, he ignored the burning sensation in his side as much as he was able, though his brow furrowed and his toes clenched. Something rooted just below his skin grew hot and twisted in on itself, then rose to the surface. It itched like a sunburn.

It was a few chapters before the end when he set the book down in distraction, and padded across the apartment to the bathroom. Sure enough, his mark had shifted, neater, careful handwriting and smaller letters. They spelled out a full name, dark against the reddened skin.

“Lunafreya Nox... Fleuret,” he spoke, puzzling out the mirrored cursive. He frowned. That sounded familiar. He searched his memory, and recalled that “Fleuret” was the surname of the Oracle line. But the current Oracle… he was reasonably sure her name was “Via Fleuret”. A different branch of the line?

His forehead creased as he tried to remember how Tenebraen naming customs worked. In Lucis, the surname “Lucis Caelum” belonged to the line of kings alone. When there was a spare, only the heir would keep the surname, and their sibling would relinquish it, generally upon marriage. Cadet branches of the royal line, as well as unrelated families who earned royal favor, were sometimes gifted an honorary surname by the King, such as the line of Shields being granted “Amicitia”— “friendship”.

Perhaps it was different in Tenebrae, and there were distant relatives of the Oracle still called “Fleuret”. He’d have to ask his father later. 

But even after the night had grown late, and Ignis had heated a frozen dinner for himself, neither of his parents returned. He was beginning to nod on the sofa, the words of his book blurring before his eyes. With a yawn, he rose, brushed his teeth, and put himself to bed.

* * *

The sun was up when he awoke naturally, no one had come to wake him. It was an odd feeling, one that eventually overcame the comfort of nestling in sunlit sheets, and prodded him into rising. He’d forgotten to lay his clothes out the night before, but managed to find clean ones in the dresser. Entering the kitchen and finding no-one, he fetched cereal and milk for himself and sat at the kitchen table. After that, he reached into the cereal box and began trawling through the flakes to pick out the sugary raisins, an act that would usually get him scolded. But it was more boredom than hunger, and eventually he lost interest, and sat at the table drumming his fingers and swinging his feet.

Then came the sound of the door latch, and he jolted up straight in his seat.

“Ah, Ignis,” his father said, not removing his shoes or entering, “Get yourself ready. The prince has requested your presence.”

“Noct’s back?” asked Ignis, then scrambled for his shoes. His father attempted to pat down his bedhead before they left.

It was quiet in the car, and Ignis fidgeted in his seat from the excitement and the tension. When they rounded the corner into the parking lot, he remembered that his mark had changed, and wondered for a moment how to broach the subject, but before he could say anything, the car came to a stop. His seatbelt was off the next instant, his hand on the door waiting for the lock to disengage. He kept pace with his father’s swift walk up the stairs, breaking into a half-run.

He turned the corner into the sunlit playroom, almost expecting that he would once again find it silent and empty, as he had every day since Noct’s injury. But instead, when the door swung open, there was a cry of, “Specs!” and Noct ran to him. He leaned forward to hug the shorter boy as tightly as possible.

It was then that he felt the corner of an object digging into his ribs. When they parted, he saw that Noct was holding a small, red, leather-bound book, his fingers white from gripping it.

“What’s that?” he asked, and Noct looked down at the book as though he had momentarily forgotten it, expression turning quiet and mournful. The transformation was abrupt.

“Luna gave it to me,” he finally responded. “She said… we should write to each other. I’m s’posed to... find something to put in it. Send it back. That way, she’ll know… I didn’t wanna leave her behind. I’m gonna go back for her. I promised I would.”

His small fingers cracked open the crisp spine and blank pages of the notebook, revealing a pressed sylleblossom and smudged fingerprints. The first page was slightly rippled, as though drops of water had fallen onto it. One of the droplets had soaked into the signature on the page, black ink bleeding into purple, but it was still legible.

_ Lunafreya Nox Fleuret _

Wrapped around his ribs, heat bloomed under the identical letters on his side.


	2. Chapter 2

When he arrived at Noct’s apartment, he heard footsteps and the crinkling of plastic, yet when he removed his shoes and rounded the corner, there was no sign of Noct. The footsteps sounded too quick and light to be him anyway. He narrowed down the crinkling to beyond the sofa, in the living room, where a black dog was gnawing on a snack pack of jerky that had been left out.

“No! Umbra, give that—” Ignis snatched away the chewed, slobbery package, and Umbra made a disgruntled noise somewhere between a bark and a whine. Too-clever eyes bored into him, resentful, and Ignis went cold at the realization he’d just scolded a messenger of the Hexatheon like a misbehaving pet. He set the package of jerky down on the table.

“My sincere apologies, Umbra, but I’m afraid I can’t let you eat that. Please follow me to the kitchen. I believe there’s sliced ham left in the fridge.”

Umbra trotted into the kitchen behind him, tail wagging. Ignis breathed a sigh of relief when he opened the fridge to find ham remaining— Ramuh’s lightning might not strike him down after all. Umbra surged forward when he set the ham down on a plate, allowing Ignis to retrieve the notebook fastened to his back. He resisted the impulse to open it.

“Noct,” he called down the hall, “Umbra’s brought a message.”

A slurred response reached his ears, and a minute later the Prince of Lucis emerged into the living room in a crinkled school uniform and with formidable bedhead. He handed over the book, the cover felt somehow warm under his fingertips. His imagination, of course.

Noctis flipped through the pages, searching for the most recent entry. Under his studiously neutral expression, Ignis couldn’t help but feel a buzz of impatience. When Noctis carelessly crinkled a page, he felt it crumple in his chest.

“Hm,” said Noctis, his expression revealing nothing. Ignis reminded himself that, as much as it may seem otherwise, he did care. A missive from anyone  _ but _ Luna wouldn’t even have got him out of bed, reports from the Citadel frequently sat unread on the table. It was just that Noctis’s experiences had left him terrified of his own vulnerability. If he distanced himself, then he couldn’t be hurt. Ignis understood, but it didn’t entirely quell the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“She asked about the new apartment. Guess I’d better write back after dinner.”

He made eye contact then, which Ignis understood to be a roundabout way of asking for assistance. Very well. After dinner, they could both sit down with the notebook and work on Noctis’s response.

* * *

He set down two plates of pasta on the table, vegetables pureed into the sauce and hopefully undetectable. Noctis prodded it with the tines of his fork and a dubious expression before taking a bite.

“—at’s pr’eey good ash’ly.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Ignis, quietly swelling from the praise. “How was school today?”

Noctis reached for his glass of water and bolted down a half-chewed mouthful.

“Same as always. We got our biology tests back. I got an 87.”

“If I recall correctly, that’s an improvement from last time, isn’t it?” Ignis makes sure to phrase it as a question. These conversations tend to go better if he pretends he hasn’t memorized Noctis’s grades.

“Yeah.” Noctis jabs the air with his fork for emphasis. “Class average was 76, and the top was only 94. Lots of people ran out of time on the last question.”

“How did Prompto fare?”

“Oh, uh, 92, I think. He said your tutoring helped a lot.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“He’s actually pretty good at science, well biology at least. Weird, since math isn’t his thing at all…” Noctis twirls his fork in the pasta.

“Well, we all have our strengths and weaknesses.”

“Really?” Noctis raises an eyebrow, still toying with his food. “Cause I don’t think I’ve seen your weakness yet.”

“And you won’t,” Ignis asserts, with playful smugness. Although Noctis is the person he lets his guard down around the most, there are some things not meant to be shared. Noctis rolls his eyes, but smiles slightly as he turns back to his plate.

* * *

After Ignis finishes washing the dishes, he settles onto the sofa next to Noctis, who is sitting with one foot crossed over the other knee and the notebook spread in his lap. His knee jiggles as he looks over it, making it frustratingly hard for Ignis to read.

“May I?” he asks, and Noctis hands it over with a sigh.

And there it is, the elegant script of the girl he has never met, and yet has already claimed him. There’s a strange intimacy in knowing that her hand must have rested on the very page his fingers are now tracing, though he’s perfectly capable of reading it without guiding his eyes across each line. Like being pressed up against a door, trying desperately to hear what is happening on the other side. Trying to know something invisible.

Her message is kind, as always. She remains in her family’s manor, a gilded cage guarded by the Niflheim army. Her own brother serves as her jailer. She leaves only for the training that will shape her into the next Oracle. And yet, she offers a listening ear and sympathy to Noctis’s talk of school and exams, part-time jobs and public transportation, things that must seem from another world. Perhaps that is why she never seems to tire of hearing of them.

He does the math. Even if she had attended school, she would have graduated by now. But Noctis will be a student for a few more years. He hopes she doesn’t get sick of hearing about it before then.

He realizes that Noctis is looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to comment.

“Ah. Well, you should open with a seasonal greeting. The sylleblossoms are beginning to flower around this time of year, right? Ask her about them.”

Noctis scrunches his face. “We’re not that formal, come on.”

Ignis crosses his arms. “Well, do you want my advice or not? Feel free to respond with a Justice Monsters sticker, if that seems more appropriate.”

“Just, like, tone it down a bit.”

“As you wish… She did ask how your exams went, perhaps you could start by telling her?”

“Guess so.” Noctis takes the notebook back, and begins writing. Ignis reads over his shoulder.

_ Thanks Luna. The exams went okay. Prompto did better this time. _

“And perhaps you could tell her about the field trip?”

“Oh yeah.” His pen begins to move faster, scratching loudly.

_ We visited part of the Old Wall. There was a statue of the Mystic there. People kept saying, “So that’s your great-great grandfather?” and I was like, “Yeah, I guess.” _

_ Don’t really know what he looked like or anything. Guess he was into fancy armor? _

“Did you see anything else of interest there?” Ignis prompts.

“Hm.”

_ There was a little museum there with a bunch of statues that got relocated, from temples and shrines that got destroyed in the war, or bits of Old Insomnia that got built over. Anyway, one of the statues was of the first Oracle, or at least they think it was. She kinda looked like you. _

Ignis clears his throat.

_ Anyway, it made me think of you, and wonder how you’re doing. If you’re holding up with your training, or your duties, or… all that stuff. I know it’s a lot. I hope you’re not too tired. _

_ Say hello to Gentiana for me. And give Umbra more treats! He tried to eat my snacks. _

Ignis watches as Noctis signs his name at the bottom of the page. He taps the pen a few times, and then adds,

_ P.S. Specs wants to know how your sylleblossoms are doing. He liked the teabags you sent last time. _

Ignis coughs into his hand. “Adequate, I suppose.” He suspects that Lunafreya will enjoy the chance to talk about her flowers, and so doesn’t protest the question being added in his name, even if it was only meant as an example. Rather, there’s something pleasant about being mentioned, that she might think of him, even for a moment, and respond to his question.

It’s foolish of him, really. He’s been told in no uncertain terms that he is not to talk to her, at least not until things are different. Fate often takes the long and winding path. She may be his future soulmate, but for now, she is the Oracle, and the most likely candidate for Prince Noctis’s future marriage. What he should do is ask that Noctis not mention him at all.

But, he persuades himself, forbidding Noctis from talking about him is impractical, and perhaps suspicious. As long as it’s written on Noctis’s own initiative, he’s done nothing wrong. Even if he does feel simultaneous pangs of guilt and hope at the thought of Lunafreya smiling at his question, and putting her pen to the page.

* * *

He’s still in a hopeful mood when he returns to the family apartment, removing his shoes in the entrance and stowing them in the shoe rack. The apartment is darkness and light— shadow from the heavy curtain still partially drawn, the afternoon sun bright where it peeks through. His own room is on the eastern side of the apartment, already dim enough that he needs to flick the light switch. He sits on the bed, mending a tear in the lining of one of his jackets and letting down the hem on a new pair of trousers, before making his way to the kitchen for a snack.

He takes an apple from the fruit bowl and is rinsing it in the sink when he hears his father’s voice.

“Ignis. I have something to discuss.”

Dutifully, he follows his father’s voice into the living room, apple in hand.

“There was a meeting at the Citadel today to discuss the Empire’s recent movements. The word is, some of the Emperor’s inner circle have suggested a marriage between Lunafreya and Prince Noctis.”

Ignis’s mouth goes dry.

“Why would  _ they _ want that? Wouldn’t it lessen their own control over the Oracle?”

His father shuffles the papers on the table.

“One royal line is easier to control than two. If the crown prince and the Oracle marry, their child would be the heir to both Tenebrae and Lucis. And if said child is raised under Imperial control…”

He can imagine it. Even if Noctis’s heir wished to preserve Lucis’s freedom, they would be at a terrible disadvantage with all of Tenebrae already under Niflheim’s thumb. The safety of one kingdom could easily be leveraged against the other. And that was assuming the Empire didn’t sway the growing child to their own agenda.

“It’s still only talk. Aldercapt wants the Crystal in his own lifetime. But there are others willing to play the long game.”

“And what if they do propose it?” Ignis manages to ask.

“There are mixed opinions,” his father answers with a sigh. “Naturally, there are concerns that it would be a poisoned gift, aimed at giving themselves leverage over Lucis’s internal politics. But there are others of the view that it would be worth the risk. The Oracle’s healing is sorely needed, to say nothing of her ability to commune with the Gods. And were we able to bring her inside the Wall, well, the Empire couldn’t force us to give her back.”

“Assuming she wished to stay permanently.” Ignis adjusts his glasses. It would grant Lunafreya more freedom than she was afforded under the Empire, who kept her in Fenestala Manor with the occasional, monitored tour of Niflheim territory to offer healing to the people. Within Insomnia, she could at least come and go within the city as she pleased. But would she accept that, knowing that it would then become difficult to return home?

He knows, at least, what Noctis would think of it. If it meant Lunafreya could escape the Empire, he’d agree regardless of his own feelings on the matter. Somewhere deep down, he remains a child, reaching for her as she fades into the distance.

“I opposed it, of course.” His father’s voice shakes him from his thoughts. “Though naturally I could not tell them my true reasons.” His gaze is fixed on Ignis, who once again feels guilt turn in his stomach.

“I have said nothing.” The denial comes out defensive and pathetic, in advance of the accusation it’s intended for.

“Good.”

“What will happen to me?” he asks, toying with the stem of the apple, still untouched.

His father picks up the papers, and taps them on the table to straighten them.

“The Pyreburner intends for you to find your destined, and he does not like to go unheard. Your mark may pain you, should you have the opportunity to get closer and refuse it. The gods care little for human circumstances.”

Ignis frowns, fingers tensed around the apple in his hand.

“You must endure it. Do not call attention to yourself, nor our connection to the fallen god. In time, a path may open. Lie low until then.”

His expression must announce his thoughts, because his father lets out a dry chuckle.

“Well, it won’t kill you. You wouldn’t be able to meet her if you died.”

“That is not much reassurance.” Ignis pushes his glasses up his nose, the afternoon sun has caused him to sweat. His father shrugs.

“Best I can do. Get back to your studies.”

* * *

The notebook returns a week later, and Ignis scratches Umbra behind the ears as Noctis peruses the new message.

“Do you require my assistance?” he asks.

“Nah, I got it covered,” Noctis replies, flipping the book closed. “She said her flowers are doing well. Bloomed early this year.”

“Well, it was a warm winter.” Ignis removes his glasses and wipes the lenses, trying not to be disappointed. It’s strange enough that Noctis is only able to communicate with Luna through the notebook, but stranger still that Ignis can only communicate with her through the occasional influence on what he writes. And yet, even being denied that small opportunity burns.

Literally. He brushes his hand over his shirt at his side, as if that will stop the sensation, heat as unbearable as blood flow returning to a numb limb.

Noctis returns to his bedroom to nap while Ignis makes dinner. Or so he plans to, but the edge of a white card sticking out from under the sofa catches his eye. He retrieves it and turns it over in his hand.

It’s a photo of Lady Lunafreya, one that Noctis hasn’t shown him before. A portrait taken by someone else, perhaps, as she sits on a lounge with Umbra at her side, his front paws resting in her lap and pulling on the white fabric of her dress. Her attention is not on the camera, she appears to be lightly scolding the Messenger. Her hair is shoulder-length and untied, merely tucked behind one ear. There’s laughter in her expression, sunlight catching her eyes and hair, overexposing the instant photo so that she appears to glow.

“Noct—,” he begins, but the sound dies in his throat as he reconsiders. With greedy furtiveness, he slips the photo into his trouser pocket. He scratches at his side and turns toward the kitchen. 

* * *

“You ever thought about dating someone?” Noctis asks one day, looking up from the sofa.

Ignis chews his lip.

“It’s not that I’ve never thought about it, but I don’t see when I would have the time.”

It’s his regular excuse, tossed off with enough rehearsed nonchalance that most people nod and drop the subject, perhaps with some sympathetic noises. But Noctis knows Ignis better than most people, and he’s never been one for tact. Ignis hears buttons mashed on a video game controller and a muttered curse before he continues.

“Then make the time. It’s not like I gave some order forbidding you from having a life, you know?”

Presumptuous and demanding, but that’s how Noctis expresses concern. Ignis rolls his eyes and gives a smirk.

“You’ll be making your own dinner tonight, then?”

The sound of a digitalized explosion and a game over jingle. Noctis slaps the cushion next to him.

“Not fair. I’ve been good all week. Hardly ate any cup noodles at all, and the dishes are all washed. You promised.”

“That I did,” Ignis smiles, and turns back to his report, tapping his pen. The barramundi on the counter is almost thawed, and he’s agreed to homemade fish and chips if Noctis avoids takeout for the week. As much of a pain the process of deep-frying is, he’s come to look forward to the meal himself. He dots his i’s and crosses his t’s and makes his way into the kitchen, slipping on his apron.

He’s just about to remove the fish from the frying oil when he hears the click of a camera. When he turns, Noctis is shaking an instant photo.

“Why don’t you tell me first?” he complains. Noctis grins.

“You get all focused when you’re cooking. It’s funny.”

He stops shaking the photo and squints at the image developing, which seems to be to his satisfaction.

“May I ask what need you have for funny photos of me?” Ignis says, now hurrying to retrieve the fish pieces before they brown too much. He nearly drops a piece at Noctis’s next words.

“I’m gonna send it to Luna.”

He whirls back to Noctis, who is oblivious to the panic on his face, draping an arm over the back of the sofa.

“After all, she’s never seen what you look like. And she asked about you a while back. Wanted to know if you were from the Scientia line of advisors.”

Ignis’s mouth falls open, expression resembling the fish he’s just carved up. He has to stop this. Come up with a plausible reason why Noctis can't send a picture of him. Why it’s better not to mention him at all.

His thoughts are cut short by the fiery sting in his side. This time, he does drop the fish, watches miserably as the piece skids across the floor. He inhales sharply, hand flying to his ribs, hunching forward over the counter. He can hear Noctis scrambling off the sofa.

“Ignis? You okay?”

He breathes heavily, trying to regain his composure before Noctis reaches him. Socked feet arrive on the floor next to him, and his eyes travel up to Noctis’s concerned face as he straightens his back.

“The oil spat,” he answers. It’s not even entirely a lie, hot oil has smeared across his hand when he dropped the fish. Noctis leads him to the sink and runs cold water over it for long enough that the pain in his side abates, and he can stand up freely. 

“Thank you,” he says, and turns back to their meal. He plates the food, with one fewer piece of fish on his own plate, and carries them to the table. The photo sits on the couch, forgotten.

Later that evening he pockets it before returning home, ignoring the renewed pain, skin tender and raw as his shirt pulls across it. Disposing of it in the dustbin would be too obvious, so he slides it under the false bottom of his sock drawer, next to his photo of the Oracle.


	3. Chapter 3

And so it goes on.

Thankfully, Noctis doesn’t bring up the possibility of sending a photo of Ignis to Luna again, which spares him the pain of denying it. As the Oracle’s duties take up more of her time, and she travels far and wide to provide healing and guidance to the people, Umbra’s visits spread until they are months apart. It’s almost tempting to think that the looming future is no longer a problem. Until it becomes one.

“With all due respect, I object. Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya are not pawns to be used to broker peace. Let them do their duties, and serve the people. But marriage should be a personal choice. At least in that, give them freedom.”

King Regis rubs his brow with the knuckles of one hand.

“We have little choice. It is demanded by Niflheim as a condition of peace. Their terms, as they are, will spare the people suffering. No doubt they could offer a worse deal, should this one fall through.”

His hand tenses around the arm of the throne, flesh white where the Ring bites in.

“Noctis and Lady Lunafreya should understand that. Wayward as my son may be, I don’t believe he would wish me to sacrifice our people to protect him. And if he does resent me…”

His gaze falls, following Ignis’s to the Ring on his finger.

“It is hardly the first time. My duty is to the people.”

It’s decided, then. A week later, he sits in Noctis’s apartment, packing away books and comics.

“It’s possible not all of these will fit into your quarters at the Citadel. Have a look and see which ones you’d like to keep on hand.”

Noctis looks up from the comic he’s begun to leaf through.

“Ah, I haven’t reread any of those in ages.” He rubs his head sheepishly. “I guess… can you give them to the library or something? I don’t wanna throw them out.”

Ignis turns over the volume in his hand.

“I’m sure if the Citadel library requires a full set of Lil’ Malbuddy’s Wild Adventures, it already has one. Or were you planning to share this with Lady Lunafreya?”

Noctis snatches the book out of his hand with an expression of annoyance, cheeks flushed.

“Fine, I’ll look through and see if there’s any I want to keep. You can get rid of the rest.”

True to his word, he does at least set the comic aside and begin sorting through his own things. Ignis moves on to the closet, extracting the clothes that Noctis definitely will need for public appearances, leaving the casual items for him to pick through. Then he stops to consider his next move.

His thoughts are interrupted by Noctis’s voice, quiet in the half-bare room.

“Hey, Ignis?”

In the time it takes him to turn and look back, Noctis changes his mind.

“Don’t worry, it’s stupid.”

Ignis deposits the armful of clothing on the bed, and crouches down next to Noctis, straightening a pile of books as he does so.

“Something troubling you, Noct?”

“It’s just… uh… It’s not that I’m worried about me, so much. I’ll manage. But. Luna. If she doesn’t…”

Noctis gaze is now anchored to the floor.

“If she doesn’t… want to be married to me. And she has to. And she can’t say anything, cause she has to.”

His arms fold around his knees.

“I really… I can’t stand the thought. And every time I start to feel even kind of happy, I think about what if she doesn’t want to. And I feel like the worst asshole.”

Ignis moves his hand above Noct’s shoulder, not sure what to say.

“Do you think… she’s unhappy with this?”

Ignis lowers his hand and gives Noct’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Has she given you that impression?”

“Well, no. But Umbra hasn’t come back since…”

“I’ve seen many of your conversations, and Lady Lunafreya has never seemed unhappy to have your company or your confidence. On the contrary, I can tell that she has always considered you a very dear friend.”

“A friend, huh…”

Ignis continues.

“I am sure that she understands her position, as well as yours. And so her feelings are probably much the same. She may even be worrying about you.”

Noctis gives a weak chuckle.

“I hope she’s not. She’s got so many important things to worry about. I don’t wanna be another one.”

He sighs. Ignis begins helping with the books, and sure enough, Noctis joins in packing after a moment. They work in silence, and Ignis realizes that, despite his encouragement to Noctis, the mark on his side hasn’t pained him at all. Whether that’s because he’s given the right answer, or because nothing he could have said would change the course of events, he doesn’t know. His own sorrow is a curiously distant feeling, given that his soulmate is to marry another. There is the wistful longing he feels whenever he thinks of her, but more than that, he doesn’t want either of them to be miserable right now. And so he rises from the floor and dusts his knees, and does the tasks at hand. It’s all he can do.

Still, he wonders, as he packs away the bowls and plates from the kitchen cupboard, how must she feel? No one, including Noctis, has mentioned Lady Lunafreya having a soulmark, which leads Ignis to believe she has told no one. A wise choice, perhaps, in light of the current outcome. She must have known this day was likely to come.

Or perhaps she knows more than him. Ignis has learned about the will of the gods from his father, but the gods themselves are her confidants. Have they told her the course of her destiny? Or how to subvert it? Perhaps the Infernian’s mark can be removed by his kin, the bond severed. His hand tightens around the cupboard door— now he knows how Noctis feels. The thought that she might feel trapped with him is too much to bear.

They order takeout that evening— Galhadian fare with stir fried vegetables at Ignis’s insistence— and eat it on the sofa surrounded by boxes. Conversation is sparse. Perhaps they have said all that they need to say, or perhaps neither of them want to touch on what they have left unvoiced, for fear that it would be endless. Noctis begins to nod soon after finishing his meal, and Ignis prods him into showering and cleaning his teeth before bed. After the water starts running, he takes his leave.

* * *

The next day, Gladiolus and Prompto come around to help finish the packing and cleaning, and the day after that they depart. Noctis says a strained farewell to his father on the steps of the Citadel, and his mood upon sitting in the car is gloomy. It’s ironic, Ignis thinks, that Noctis spends so much time wanting to see his father, yet rarely comes away from their encounters happy. He suspects King Regis feels the same. Another thing he is bound to observe and never able to fix.

But Noctis’s mood brightens as their journey gets underway, aided by Prompto and the issuance of a King’s Knight challenge. Ignis voices a warning about carsickness that goes unheeded, and the vehicle is full of the sound of tapping. Even Gladiolus joins in. Ignis thinks with some regret about the XP he’s missing out on, then turns his attention back to the road. At least the drive is pleasant, the scenery wild and novel, the air rushing past him, and the free space to open up the throttle and see what the Regalia can do. A perk of the job.

But the open space and lack of conversation leads to thoughts of her. The wedding is to be held in neutral Altissia, but even now Lady Lunafreya travels as Oracle, healing the sick and blessing the well. Niflheim has granted her a short reprieve from her duties as a “honeymoon” of sorts, but in exchange they have demanded a punishing tour of their territory beforehand to make up for the absence. And should she return to Lucis with them, there will be a clamour for the first visit of an Oracle in years.

It’s all out of his hands. He flexes fingers around the steering wheel and checks the mirrors. The sun’s warmth has lulled Noctis to sleep in the back. All Ignis can do is ensure he arrives at his destination.

Once they arrive at Galdin Quay, it doesn’t take them long to secure their ferry tickets, though they are accosted on the boardwalk by a self-styled reporter looking for a scoop. Gladio runs interference while Ignis shepherds Noctis into the hotel. Their room looks out across the ocean, sparkling blue to the horizon, and Noctis stops by the floor-to-ceiling windows to gaze out.

“Something to drink?” Ignis offers, holding up the complimentary wine bottle from the kitchenette counter. Noctis nods, so he pours two glasses and carries them over to the window. Noctis takes a sip, his expression twitching slightly before drinking more. The wine is a good one, but rather drier than what Ignis knows the prince prefers. They watch the view in silence for a while.

“Not going to fish?” Ignis ventures.

“Huh. Maybe in a bit.” Noctis shrugs. Ignis reaches out as if to put a hand on his forehead.

“Are you quite feeling well?”

Noctis rolls his eyes a little.

“Wouldn’t want to miss my own bachelor party.”

“It might not be that exciting. Difficult to locate exotic dancers on such short notice.”

Noctis laughs at that, and gives Ignis a shove on the shoulder.

“Like you’d know where to find any.” He takes another sip of his wine.

“Nah. I just… This might be the last time I get to hang out with you guys for a while.”

Ignis tilts his head at that.

“Married life, you know?” says Noctis with a lopsided smile. “Really though. Luna’s been through a lot… I have to do the best I can by her.”

There’s an odd grief that rises up in Ignis’s throat, but he swallows it down and holds out his wine glass. He reminds himself that he’s never met her, reminds himself that fate works in mysterious ways. Reminds himself that what he wants most is for his liege— and his soulmate— to be happy.

“To Lady Lunafreya, then,” he says, and Noctis clinks his own glass against Ignis’s.

“To Luna.”

They drink.

* * *

However dark his mood is at the start of the day, it is impossible for his spirits not to be lifted by the vast expanse of the open ocean, and the shining water-walls that surround the heart of Accordo. Altissia sparkles like a diamond adrift in the sea, and the circling birds overhead seem to cry out their delight, even if their true intent is to scavenge from the fishing docks. Below the waters too, myriad creatures swim, and he seizes the back of Noctis’s jacket before he can go over the side.

“Sure wish I had more time to fish,” he mutters wistfully.

“Perhaps you can return for your anniversary,” Ignis suggests, and Noctis goes a little quiet, like he still hasn’t comprehended the long-term implications of his situation.

“...Yeah,” he manages, and his gaze returns to the water. Ignis leaves him to his thoughts after that. At least for the short time left until they dock. On land once again, a solidity returns to the ground beneath them.

“Noct,” he says, and Noctis snaps to attention as if out of a daydream. Ignis continues.

“Our accommodations are at the Leville. We’ll stop by there first to deposit our luggage and prepare ourselves. Your formal introduction with Lady Lunafreya is scheduled for late afternoon.”

“Got it. You lead the way.”

Ignis does, wondering if the prickle in his side is a divine message or his own imagination. The wedding preparations have been surprisingly painless for him, possibly because every action he takes toward Noctis and Lady Lunafreya’s introduction also brings their own fated meeting closer. If that’s the case, such fortunate circumstances won’t hold for long. His body is already tense, bracing himself for the pain that will come when he has to pull himself away from her. As they turn into a narrow lane, his heels click on the paving stones and echo from the building facades. Everything seems to loom over him.

The hotel room is fit for a prince, if not a king. He arranges their luggage within the room, transferring their clothing into the wardrobe— Noctis would happily live out of a suitcase, but working the creases out of his haphazard laundry pile will give Ignis a headache. Meanwhile, Noctis showers the sea salt out of his hair. Ignis brings his suit, Lucian black from head to toe, and helps him dress. Noctis adjusts his silver cufflinks, pensive.

Ignis should say something. The writing on his side is sparking now, the sting of touching an object left in the baking sun. But what could he possibly say that would not be grossly overstepping his position? He has no grounds to suggest the audacious possibility of the prince calling off his own wedding, and with it the hope of peace. Noctis tugs on his sleeves and lapels, and turns to Ignis.

“I’m ready.”

The pain in his side flares for a moment, then sputters out. Ignis unclenches his teeth.

“Then let us proceed.”

* * *

The meeting place is a private hall on the Prime Minister’s estate. No doubt it had been insisted upon as the place in which it was most difficult for either side to cause a scene without offending a third country, though given Niflheim’s indirect hold on Accordo, they had less to lose even here. Political considerations aside, it’s certainly a pleasant location, entered through a lush private garden, shaded by the surrounding buildings, the hall itself carved of white marble. The sounds of the city around them are blocked out. Ignis feels as if he is in a forest where all has gone quiet, as if something is approaching. His steps send a pebble skittering across the path and into the bushes.

Prime Minister Claustra and her aides lead them between marble pillars decked with sylleblossoms to the entrance, Altissian guards push open the double doors. Noctis inhales before stepping inside, and Ignis follows, little more than his shadow now. Their eyes adjust from the sunlight to indoors.

There are many figures looming tall across the room, the Niflheim delegate come to see this deal through. But his eyes are drawn to the smallest and slightest, who rises to her feet with exquisite grace, and dips her head in a bow. He watches, transfixed by the play of soft light across her delicate skin and shimmering hair. The flash of her gaze is a deeper blue than the Crystal, even across the room, and it seizes him. He nearly lets out a wild laugh— how could he have expected his scuffed photograph to show even a fraction of her perfection? Lovely, lovely beyond lovely, he forgets all else in that moment, until the quiet parting of her lips and the widening of her eyes brings him back to the reality facing them. That she feels the same thing. That they both will pretend they do not. That, barring divine intervention, she will leave this city married to the man beside him. He’s never envied Noct anything, but in that moment, something ice cold and terrible seizes his insides with clawed hands.

He tears his gaze away, turns to the cool and blank marble of the wall, trying to steady his breathing. In a moment, he gained the world and had it all slip through his fingers, leaving only the hollow knowledge of what would be missed. Or so he feels. His hand jolts to his side, where a red hot brand presses into his skin, sinking through the flesh. Those around him have begun to speak. He can’t make out a single word. His vision greys at the edges.

Through the murky soup of sounds around him, he can make out sounds of alarm and concern. Not for him. The murmuring is cut through by a feminine gasp, the clatter of heels, and the slap of skin striking the marble floor. Noctis cries out “Luna!” and then he is gone from Ignis’s side, a development that Ignis senses more than sees. He turns clumsily and stumbles, breathing heavily. Dimly, he’s aware of his inability to help, that even his attempt to act normally is beyond salvage now, a vague shame that lingers as the world turns over on its side and the cold marble floor rises to meet him.

* * *

“Lady Lunafreya?”

An age seems to pass before he finds the words to call for her. The world is shimmering, soft and pale, a fuzzy haze that brightens when he flails his half-asleep limbs enough to toss aside the bedsheets and find himself staring up at a light fixture. Noctis’s sour face comes into view.

“She’s fine. Or at least that’s the message Claustra relayed to us.”

“Ah,” Ignis says, further vocabulary floating just out of reach. The edge of the sheet tickles at his arm, and he looks down in horror to find his shirt has been removed at some point during the proceedings.

“Well, the doctor’s said you’re fine, so I guess it’s the same for her?” Noctis’s attempted shrug betrays a hint of worry, brows creased. It’s only a moment before anger sparks in him again.

“When were you going to tell me she’s your soulmate?”

Ignis hauls himself up to lean against the head of the bed. So Noctis knows everything. He had often wondered of the royal family’s knowledge on such magic.

“Never, I suppose,” he replies vaguely. He’d never put it into words like that, never followed the train of thought to its logical conclusion. But in what scenario would he have judged it worth the risk to step forward? He had always been waiting for things to work themselves out. Noctis scoffs.

“So the plan was just wait until you both collapse on the floor? At an international treaty negotiation?”

_ Ah.  _ When Noctis puts it like that, he supposes he has made quite a scene. Embarrassing for a royal advisor and strategist.

“I never intended it to come to this,” he manages. He reaches for his shirt, and Noctis hands it to him with an eyeroll. Ignis pulls it on, buttoning down the remains of his dignity.

“What are you going to do?” Ignis ventures. He has little right to ask anything of Noctis, but he wonders.

“Well, I can’t marry her. I’m not going to be the reason for her to give up on her soulmate. But—”

“Niflheim,” Ignis finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

Noctis huffs, then sighs.

“Look, I’m still mad at you, but I’m gonna need your help to figure this out. Later.”

“Later?”

“Claustra put the screws on them a bit. Luna’s been transferred from the hospital to Accordan custody, to make them leave her alone for a while. For the sake of her health. No one’s meant to know exactly where she’s staying, Lucian or Niff. But she’ll tell  _ you.” _

Ignis looks up in surprise.

“A soft spot for the young and tragic,” Noctis says, making air-quotes with one hand. An expression of wry amusement crosses his face. “Good thing sneaking around at night is a specialty of yours, huh?”

Ignis can’t help but smile back.

“I’ve had a lot of practice, thanks to a young prince.”

“Yeah, yeah. Claustra’s assistant put her number in your phone. Call her.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wonderful art for this chapter provided by Inktail, go say hi to them on Tumblr or Twitter! <https://inkydoodles.tumblr.com/post/633740280141611008/another-one-for-the-rare-pairs-big-bang-this-time>  
> <https://twitter.com/Kaittzie/status/1323500537082425344>

[ ](https://inkydoodles.tumblr.com/post/633740280141611008/another-one-for-the-rare-pairs-big-bang-this-time)

The moon has risen and lights his footfalls down the alleyways of Altissia. He glances up to its watchful eye, using glimpses of it over the rooftops to orient himself in the unfamiliar city. His previous sneaking had been limited to the Citadel and its surrounds in Insomnia, which he had come to know like the face of a friend. Altissia, on the other hand, is a stranger that does not hand over her secrets easily. He makes wrong turns, backtracks, avoids open spaces and areas where Niflheim might have staked guards, but keeps the moonlight as his compass point to ensure that his meanderings converge upon the right direction.

He dips under a stone archway, aging and weathered and perhaps constructed in an age when men were shorter, and hesitates at the garden before him. Unlike its walls, the flower beds are maintained and nourished, stands of tulips and pansies in full bloom. Dare he cross it? If someone lives here, his trespass is likely to be noticed. The light tap of footsteps causes him to silence his own breath, hoping to slip into the shadows.

She leans over the raised bed in the center, and brushes her fingers against the largest blossom. Its petals have closed for the evening, but she breathes in the scent as though hoping it will steady her, and murmurs something addressed to the flower and not to him. Or perhaps it is for the ears of the Gods. For all he knows, they could be watching.

Hesitance turns to curiosity and then absorption, until he has spent entirely too long watching her to casually strike up conversation. He straightens his clothing, prepares to clear his throat, realizes he has nothing planned to say. Her head turns, and her eyes catch him before he can decide.

“Lady Lunafreya,” he manages, then remembers to bow.

“Camelia told me to expect a guest.”

When he looks up, her eyes meet his with a shy curiosity, and a gentle smile plays across her lips.

“I suppose I can thank her for the pleasure of this visit.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Ignis responds, and thankfully, she laughs. She turns back to the flowers, plucks one from the garden, and threads it into his shirt pocket, fingers brushing against his chest as she does so.

“Violet for faithfulness. It suits you.”

He furrows his brows.

“Does it?” he asks, then pauses, “I mean… we’ve never met.”

“Noctis told me about you. Through our notebook.” She laces her hands, sighs. “Though it’s wonderful to finally meet you, Ignis.”

“Much better that we can speak in person,” he agrees, then comes to a discomforting realization, “Wait, what has he been saying about me?”

“I could ask the same question, you know,” she teases. “But the night has become chill. Follow me.”

She leads him down the moonlit path to the warmer indoor light of the villa, and welcomes him inside. It’s a modest space, but finely furnished, with a coffee table made of solid mahogany and a lounge of Accordan leather which she ushers him onto.

“How do you drink your tea?” she asks, which bewilders him. He can’t possibly allow Lady Lunafreya, heir to the ancient line of Oracles, to serve him tea. Which is perhaps why she has asked him how he drinks it, rather than if he would like it. He can barely refuse to answer the Oracle’s questions either.

“Sugar, no milk,” he responds, defeated, and a delicate cup and saucer arrives before him moments later. She must have boiled the water earlier.

“Thank you kindly.”

She smiles at him over the rim of her own cup, and takes the seat next to him.

“It’s an Ulwaat blend. Noctis told me you enjoyed the one I sent.”

“Oh.” He takes a sip, the tea is rich and citrusy with a hint of sweetness, though still slightly too hot to take more than the tiniest sip. He sets it back on the saucer.

“I kept your photo,” she says, with the quiet air of a confession.

“You… Pardon?” Ignis blinks.

“I knew it was likely that we’d end up like this… That I would be betrothed to Prince Noctis.” Her smile pulls thin. “But I was happy to know you were there. You looked very kind.”

“Thank you?” Ignis manages, grappling with the realization that the photo he'd confiscated was not the only one. “I must admit, I wasn’t aware he’d sent any…”

“Oh!” she exclaims, touching her fingers to her lips. “I assumed he’d had permission.”

He smiles a little, to put her at ease.

“Well, it hardly matters now. Though I would perhaps like to see it.”

She turns her head and whistles then, and the answer is the sound of feet padding across the polished floor. Umbra sits before her, tongue lolling out while she retrieves the worn notebook, then scratches behind his ears. She flicks through the used section of the notebook with an intent gaze, soon arriving at the page in question, which she offers to him.

As photos go, he’s seen better. A little too distant, likely from being shot while he was in the kitchen and Noctis was in the living room. Ignis isn’t looking at the camera, but rather into a pot of stew, and his arm is motion-blurred where he’s wiping his hand on his apron. His hair had been styled up at the time, but the rising steam had caused it to droop, and he’d simply pushed it all back roughly.

He clears his throat.

“I’m surprised you found that appealing.”

“What?” she asks, “Oh come on, you look perfectly handsome in it!”

Her gaze drifts to the photo with a soft fondness, and Ignis swallows, wondering how many times she has looked at him like that.

“I always thought you looked so content in your work. So focused on it. I must admit, I liked that. I felt a sense of peacefulness, somewhat akin to how I feel when I work in my garden.”

She tore her eyes from the photo and quickly cleared her throat, taking a sip of tea before she spoke again.

“That said, the photo hardly does justice to the reality.”

Her hand brushes his as she takes the notebook back, then places it closed on the coffee table. Somehow, they seem to have shifted closer during their conversation, enough that any movement would inevitably cause them to touch. They are both very still.

He wonders how far this should go. Were there no other considerations, he’d want everything. And yet, despite Noctis’s assertion that he can’t marry her now, the engagement remains official, for the time being. He can feel the warmth of her body, sense her movements as she breathes in and out. There are no rules to guide. He thinks, inhales, decides.

She makes a small sound when he settles his arm around her shoulder and pulls her close, but it’s only a moment before she leans into him. He dares not move further, but she reaches for his hand, the one still burning with her touch, and twines her fingers with his. Her sigh sounds contented. His heart is racing, and he realizes that he is sitting rigid, forcing himself to lean back into the sofa. She shifts with him, nuzzles against his shoulder. They are quiet for a long time.

“If only time could stop like this,” he hears her murmur. The fingers of her free hand reach up to cling to his arm. The evening is warm, and yet she trembles a little. The fire under his skin tells him to seize her, take her, protect her, and never let go. But he smothers it, beats it back down. Not yet. It isn’t time.

There are so many things they can’t do that it takes some time to turn his mind toward what they can. As pleasant as it is to simply touch, he doesn’t want to sit here in silence dreading when their time will be up. They both need a distraction.

“Lady Lunafreya, have you eaten?”

She glances up at him.

“No, come to think of it. Not since before this afternoon…”

He disentangles himself from her and rises to his feet, then offers her a hand.

“Then allow me.”

* * *

The villa has a stocked kitchen on a lower floor, presumably used more often by staff than residents. Someone has anticipated that it would be occupied. Ignis wonders if the Altissian’s intended to put someone else up here, or if their aim was to move Lunafreya to a safehouse from the beginning. In any case, as well as spices and pantry staples, there are perishables— fresh fish from the markets and a selection of vegetables. A better selection than he could have anticipated.

“May I ask your preferences?” he ventures.

“I have few dislikes,” she responds. “Any of this would make a pleasant meal.”

“A far cry from His Highness’s tastes.”

She raises her shoulders in the smallest of shrugs.

“Niflheim has overseen my dietary intake for the last twelve years. They have provided adequately, but I learned to eat what was set before me.”

He bites his lip as he lays out ingredients on the counter before him, mind formulating possible combinations.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, would you teach me?”

The unexpected request breaks his focus on the recipe.

“Lady Lunafreya… I assure you there is no need… Please take your rest.”

She pouts a little.

“But it hardly counts as spending time with you if you spend it in the kitchen. Besides, I have had little opportunity to learn from a skilled chef. As I hear you are.”

The flattery spins his head a little, and before he can recover, she pushes further, fingertips outstretched and trailing down his arm.

“I said, did I not, that I enjoyed seeing you work?”

He clears his throat, “Very well.” The words come out croakier than he would have liked. He reassesses the ingredients before him. Perhaps a marinade and oven-baked dish, a fairly foolproof method that locks in moisture. “We’ll use these fillets, and, hm…” He sorts through the bottles and jars of oil and seasonings, setting some aside for use while clearing others out of the way, and switches the oven to preheat as he passes.

“Here are the ingredients for the marinade. I’ll write down the proportions later, but for now…” He trails off, mixing them himself. “Kindly lay out a sheet of foil on that oven tray— big enough to wrap the fish in— that should be enough— now bring the pieces here. Wonderful.”

He pours the marinade over the fish.

“That needs to sit for a while. In the meantime, may I ask you to chop vegetables?”

She takes up the knife and chopping board with an expression of earnest concentration.

“Cut this one into strips about as wide as your finger. Keep your fingers curled, like a cat’s paw, to lessen the risk of cutting yourself.”

He watches with some anxiety, but she works her way through it cautiously. Her chopping is slow and slightly uneven, but roasting hardly requires perfect accuracy and the fish needs time to marinate. He does reach around after a moment to adjust her grip on the knife.

“You’ll have finer control if you position your fingers like this,” he says, and demonstrates, before handing the knife back to her. She hums thoughtfully, and leans back slightly into his arms before resuming her work. He remains in place, his embrace covering her bare arms from the cool of the room, though there’s no indication that such a thing is necessary. More importantly, in this position the top of her head tucks perfectly under his chin, a coincidence he finds profoundly satisfying. There’s little motivation to move when they fit together so well.

“I think I’m done with this,” she announces after a minute. “Would you like to inspect my work?”

He adjusts his glasses as he does so, leaning in and scrutinizing the vegetables in an exaggerated fashion.

“Chopped to perfection,” he pronounces, and tightens his arms around her waist as she lets out an airy laugh. He shifts her to one side, wondering at which point such familiarity stopped feeling scandalous, and turns back to the fish. Ideally, it would spend longer in the marinade, but he has few ideas for how to keep the two of them occupied in the meantime, or at least few ideas that don’t run the risk of becoming grossly distracted from dinner. So he lays the fish on the cooking foil, then asks her to arrange the vegetables around it, and wraps it all up in a neat package. The oven has heated, so he slides the tray in and sets the timer.

“We have approximately half an hour on our hands. Any suggestions?”

“It’s been some time since I had an evening to myself,” she muses. “It’s a shame we cannot spend it in a more familiar location, for I have many things I would like to show you, if only we were in Tenebrae. Or if we were in Insomnia, and you could show me your home.”

He thinks for a moment.

“Luckily, there is something from home I can show you right now. Something that is no doubt familiar to you as well. Follow me.”

He leads her back into the garden, though not to the flower beds. The moon hangs in the sky even higher now, a few days short of full and a sliver missing from its circle. She sighs when she sees it nonetheless.

“It is a lovely night.”

“Indeed.”

There’s a stout wall that provides a place to sit, he beckons her to it.

“When the prince was younger, we often went stargazing together. I believe it first started with a book I lent him, which would make it one of the few habits he picked up from me. Regardless, it served well to draw him out of his shell after he was injured. I have many fond memories.”

“How wonderful.” She pauses, fingers toying at the neckline of her dress. “Gentiana— a Messenger, one who takes human form— sometimes showed me the stars in my own childhood. She taught me their names, how to read them… I confess, I did not take her lessons to heart.”

“No?” Ignis asks, curious.

“I asked her what need had I to read the stars when I could just ask her,” Lunafreya admits.

“But what did she tell you? Of the future and…”

_ Of us… _ is the unspoken end to his question.

She is silent for a while, as though attempting to put her thoughts in order.

“It has been a long time since the Infernian fell. She said that his mind was no longer known to her. And yet, his marks showed that he had not truly abandoned humanity. That he still watched, and intervened.”

Her hand curls over her side, a protective gesture that Ignis is sorely familiar with.

“She could not— or would not— tell me how my own future would unfold. But she said that fate often takes the winding path to its destination. And that the mark of a god is not easily defied.”

She looks up at the stars for a long moment, then her gaze returns to him.

“Had I refused Prince Noctis, the opportunity to meet you would have slipped through my fingers. I do not take my engagement lightly. And yet, I must admit I hoped…”

A faint ding rings out from within the kitchen, plain in the quiet garden, and both their heads turn. Ignis rises from the wall, and reaches to help her to her feet.

“Shall we?”

He plates the meal and retrieves a bottle of wine from the rack in the pantry— a decent year but not one that the owners are particularly likely to miss among the others— and pours two glasses before setting it all on the table. Luna compliments the meal with charming earnestness, though he has to wonder if effusive praise is a skill she has perfected. Still, the compliment makes him swell, and he takes the chance to redirect it back at her.

“At least some of the credit must go to you, Lady Lunafreya.”

She sets down her fork.

“Is there any possibility I could have you drop the title before the evening is out?” Her voice is playful, but he can tell the request is genuine.

“None at all, Lady Lunafreya,” he teases back, smiling disarmingly. They have crossed and trampled and run roughshod over many lines in the sand, but this is one barrier he refuses to take down, at least as long as she is engaged to the prince. It is his last reminder of what stands between them, even in this private domesticity. She frowns a little into her plate, sinking her fork into another bite of fish.

“I would have you cook for me again,” she says, quieter than before. He reaches out to her free hand, which rests on the table, and covers it with his own, then curls his fingers under her palm.

“Whatever happens, I can promise you that, at least.”

She turns their hands over, and brushes her fingertips along his palm, exploring the calluses and faint scars that come from his weapons training as well as time spent in the kitchen. At length, she threads her fingers through his and squeezes.

“A promise, then.”

“A promise,” he agrees, squeezing back. He wishes he could offer her everything, gold and jewels, the stars and moon, but all he has are words and good intentions. Noctis had made her a promise too, long ago, to come back and save her. A promise yet unfulfilled. But not abandoned. And it wouldn’t be, if Ignis had anything to say about it.

_ Even if I must let you go, I want to set you free… _ He’d use every ounce of strategy in his brain to return her to Insomnia, out of the Empire’s clutches. He would help his prince fulfil the oath he had made. He would make sure that there were many more dinners taken in private, the simple freedom to eat what she wanted, when she wanted. And he’d marry the two of them to each other himself, if it proved to be the only way.

She beckons him back to the sofa, where they settle in for the evening the way they had begun, muted and drowsy from the meal and the late hour. Nestled under his arm, tucked into his shoulder, she nods. His own eyelids grow heavy. Warmth and comfort loom large and threaten to swallow him.

“Lady Lunafreya…”

She opens her eyes, looking up at him questioningly.

“I’m afraid I must return.”

Sorrow clouds her gaze, and his own throat tightens at the admission. Her fingers tense in the fabric of his shirt for a moment before slowly and deliberately withdrawing.

“I thank you,” she says.

He rises, but collects her hands in his.

“Noctis and I… we’ll figure something out. There is much that we must discuss. But when this is all over, the next meal that we share will be in Insomnia. I swear it.”

“In Insomnia.”

She takes a deep breath, withdraws her hands from his, and smiles up at him.

“I look forward to it.”

He bows, and retreats before the dawn can reveal the traces of his footsteps. The light chases the shadows from the rooftops, and white birds wheel over the city, bound to no one but the wind and waves.


	5. Epilogue

The King’s office often welcomed guests, but none walked in with quite the determination of the golden-haired toddler who could barely reach the desk itself. Noctis shuffled his papers and set them aside, secretly glad for the distraction.

The fingertips that reached over the edge of his desk carried with them a crumpled sheet of paper, adorned with a blob scribbled in black crayon.

“It’s you!” she crowed, and Noctis took the page in both hands, sizing it up.

“Huh, I don’t recall commissioning a royal portrait.”

The hands meandered along the edge of his desk, leaving sticky finger marks that Ignis would have to wipe away later.

“It’s a bit unconventional, but I like your style. Maybe we can replace the painting on the grand staircase. Never liked that one.” He stuck out his tongue in an exaggerated expression of “bleh”.

The resulting shriek of toddler-giggles made him wince— how could something so small be so loud? The hands, meanwhile, had found his stack of papers and begun peeling the pages away one by one. He surged forward to rescue them.

“Uh-uh… we don’t touch those. How about… Let’s just— LUNA!”

The Oracle was thankfully quick to appear, so much so that he imagined she had been there all along and waiting. Some years ago, she’d traded her ornate hairstyle for a loose ponytail, her clothing still elegant but more comfortable now. And in colors that were more stain-resistant than white.

“Celes! Come here.”

The child turned and hurried across the room on stubby legs, hands grasping at the dark fabric of her mother’s skirt. Luna reached down and scooped her up.

“I’ve come to see my husband,” she said.

“Ah.”

Noctis looked out the window, at the sun which was growing low in the sky.

“Well, he should be back soon. He said he was going to— uh, just going to—”

Luna raised an eyebrow. Her child regarded him with piercingly green eyes, as though to make up for her father’s absence.

“I wasn’t listening,” he admitted, in defeat.

He was saved by the timely arrival of his royal advisor, clad head to toe in his black and gold council robes which swished as he entered the room, earning a fascinated stare from the toddler.

“My apologies, your majesty. The meeting with the Accordan trade minister took longer than I expected— Well hello, darling.” 

He turned his head in the direction of the small fist tugging at his robes, pressing a kiss to the top of the child’s head, then placing a hand on Luna’s cheek and leaning in for a rather longer kiss.

“And you, my love.”

Noctis’s eyeroll must have been audible, because Ignis turned to him with a sharp look.

“Whatever. At least you’re not being as gross as when we first got back.”

“We could be,” Ignis retorted, leaning in to rub noses with Luna, who nuzzled back, beaming, breaking away for just a moment to stick her tongue out in Noctis’s direction. Ugh,  _ soulmates. _ He should have them all arrested for lèse majesté. It’d be easier on his gag reflex.

At this point, Celes began a burbling chorus of “Dada, dada, dada,” and Luna handed her over. Ignis shifted her in his arms as though he were trying to get comfortable, foiled by her octopus grip on his robes.

“And we have you to thank for it, too,” smiled Luna, content to needle the king further.

“Gee. Don’t mention it.”

“No, no, no,” Ignis chimed in, “It really was a brilliant solution. Appeal to Lunafreya’s role, point out that Niflheim can ill-afford an Oracle who does not have the favor of the Gods. Offer in your own place the scion of one of the oldest noble houses in Lucis, one with ties to the royal family, rumored to trace its lineage as far back as Solheim—”

He hesitated there. Noctis had always suspected that Ignis knew more than he let on about those rumored connections to Solheim nobility, and to Ifrit, but he felt no need to press for details.

“—and point out that such a marriage offers almost all the benefits of marriage to a Lucian prince without the downsides. I couldn’t have come up with it myself, not as close to the issue as I was, and they wouldn’t have listened to it from me anyway.”

“The speech you gave was quite persuasive,” Luna added, wincing a little as a toddler hand tugged on her ponytail.

“Indeed. You sounded more like a king than I had believed possible.”

“Why do I feel like that wasn’t exactly a high bar?” Noctis grumbled, and Ignis laughed.

“In any case, we do have you to thank.” Ignis’s voice is sincere now, his smile familiar and gentle.

“We owe our happiness to you,” Luna said. “Celes, say ‘thank you’ to Noctis.”

She carried Celes over so that her feet dangled on the edge of Noctis’s desk.

“Thank you,” she repeated merrily in her toddler-lisp, and Noctis found himself turning red from all the praise. He squirmed in his fancy desk chair under the attention.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered.


End file.
